Endorphins
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A few months into their relationship, Cuddy suggests that House go back into therapy.
1. Chapter 1

**To make up for the long gap between my last chapters, here's a new fic. On the other hand, this may not make anyone happy, cause it's depressing as hell. - atd**

Five months into their relationship and House and Cuddy had been fighting more than usual.

It was inevitable, in some ways—the end of the "glory of you" phase, those endorphins just a bit less het-up, the newness of it all fading slightly. They were still madly in love and still enjoying an off-the-charts sex life, but some quotidian concerns had begun to creep in.

For one, there was clinic duty. When they first began seeing each other, House was a veritable Clinic Duty All-Star, always on time, deftly handling several patients at once, even volunteering to work overtime. But once he felt that he had passed some sort of model boyfriend test, he slowly went back to his old slacker ways.

Then there were predictable domestic concerns: He'd forget to the put the milk back in the fridge and it would spoil. He'd come home late without calling. He'd sit on his ass playing video games as though Cuddy were some sort of hired maid service.

In the beginning, they were in their own little private bubble. The minute Rachel went to bed, they were all over each other. At the office, they'd sneak into the bathroom for quickies, surreptitiously grab each other under the table at staff meetings, text each other all the dirty things they couldn't wait to do to each other when they got home. That was still the case, but Cuddy found herself craving a social life that didn't only include her sexy, surly roommate. But he never wanted to go out. "You'd really like my friends Jane and Mike," she'd say. "They're a lot of fun. Mike used to be a professional surfer." "I like you better," he would say, pulling her toward him. When she did manage to drag him out, it rarely went well. If he wasn't brazenly daydreaming, he was being infuriatingly rude.

But the biggest fight had to do with his apartment. He was spending all his time at her place at this point, he even had his own drawer, but she wasn't prepared to fully commit.

"Why am I paying a mortgage on my apartment when I basically already live with you?" he groused.

"I'm not ready yet," she replied.

"Why aren't you ready yet?"

"I. . .don't know. Moving in together is a big step."

"It's semantics. We already do live together."

"If it's the money, I can chip in. . ."

"You know it's not the money, Cuddy."

"Then why the rush?"

"Why the delay?" he would counter.

They'd had this fight tonight, and it was a little more intense than usual. He accused her of not taking the relationship seriously, of toying with him, keeping him at arm's length. She accused him of having no patience, being irresponsible, never considering the long term consequences of his actions.

They'd gone to sleep huffily, turning away from each other, punishing each other with the silent slopes of their backs, and Cuddy woke up at 3 in the morning, knowing—with that sixth sense lovers have—that he was gone from the bed.

His side was still warm, so he couldn't have been gone long. She put on her robe and stepped into the living room.

That was when she saw him, sitting on the couch, his body coiled, his brow coated with sweat, cutting his forearm with a knife.

"What the hell are you doing?" she screamed, rushing up to him. He hastily dropped the knife into the bucket he had under him. He had a towel wrapped tightly around his arm. It was rapidly turning red.

"You scared the shit out of me," he hissed. "I couldn't sliced open an artery."

"Are you out of your mind?" she said, rushing up to him, taking the towel off his arm to inspect the damage.

The cut was clean, surgical. He wouldn't need any stitches. She gave him back the towel and went to the bathroom to get bandages and antiseptic ointment.

"My leg hurt," he said, pathetically, when she returned. "Cutting myself releases. . ."

"I know. Endorphins. Not in my home, House. What if Rachel had seen you?"

"That's all your concerned about? If Rachel had seen me? What about my excruciating pain?"

She sat next to him, began cleaning the wound with a Q-tip and the ointment. He winced.

"I am worried about your pain," she said, quietly. "What's going on?"

"I have a giant hole in my leg. Or maybe you conveniently forgot about that."

"House. . ."

He looked down.

"I don't know. It just hurts. And since I had no Vicodin handy. . ."

"Don't say that," she said sharply.

"I'm not jonesing for Vicodin," he said, calmly. "I'm just in a lot of pain. The Advil barely made a dent."

"Is this . . . because of our fight?" she asked.

"Yes, Cuddy. Everything's about you. Even my pain."

"Okay," she said, holding up her hand defensively. "I'm sorry."

There was a long pause.

"You don't want me here," he said quietly.

She sighed. So it _was_ about their fight.

"House, of course I want you here. I love you."

"Then why won't you let me put my apartment on the market?"

"Because I have a three year old daughter. We can't make this permanent until we're both sure."

"I'm sure," he said.

"Well, then that makes one of us."

He scowled.

"You can be a real cunt, you know that?"

She stood up, angrily. "Here, bandage it yourself," she said, roughly throwing the gauze and surgical tape at him.

He caught them, then grabbed her arm, stopping her from storming away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You know I'm a dick when I'm in pain. We'll do it your way. We'll take it slow."

She inhaled, then sat back down next to him. She finished tending to his arm, then said: "I want you to start seeing Dr. Nolan again."

"What?"

"I mean it. I don't think you ever should've stopped seeing him in the first place."

"I don't need to see him. I've never been happier," he protested.

"Yeah, and that's why I found you cutting yourself on my couch in the middle of the night."

"Physical pain and mental pain are not the same thing," he said.

"And yet with you, they conveniently overlap."

"I don't need a shrink."

"I would think that a man wanting to move in with his girlfriend and her three-year-old daughter would take his own mental health a little more seriously."

"Now that sounds curiously like a threat," he said.

"It's not a threat. It's a statement of fact."

"I'm fine. Tonight was an aberration. It won't happen again."

She looked at him, disappointment registering on her face.

"Okay, House. Fine. Whatever you want. I'm going back to bed."

He watched her walk away, dismayed.

Ten minutes later, he climbed into bed next to her, put his arms around her from behind.

"Thank you for bandaging my arm," he whispered, pulling her toward him

"You're welcome," she said, not quite ready to forgive him yet.

"I thought about what you said," he said. "I'm going to call Nolan tomorrow. Start therapy again."

"Oh House," she said, turning to him and kissing him on the lips. "I'm so happy. So proud of you."

"Nothing wrong with the occasional mental tune up," he said, kissing her back.

She began to wrap her legs around him, kiss his chest, but then stopped.

"Your leg?" she said.

"Is about to feel a whole lot better," he said, devouring her.

########

"I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you here," Nolan said, smiling knowingly.

"Okay, okay, get it out of your system," House said. "I called you a quack last time I saw you."

"A faith healer, actually. And then you stormed out dramatically, never to return," Nolan said.

"And yet. . .here I am."

"Here you are. But why?"

"Just checking in. Making sure I'm still the poster child for mental health."

"I understand that you've been seeing Dr. Cuddy," Nolan said.

"Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Doctors gossip," Nolan said. "That's good news, right? It's what you wanted."

"It's _everything _I wanted."

"Does she know you're here?"

"Of course. We make these kinds of decisions together."

"Is she _why _you're here?"

"What part of 'we make these kinds of decisions together' didn't you understand?"

"So no pressure? No, 'get back into therapy or I'm ending it'?"

"Why would you even say that?"

"Because I know you, House. And I don't believe you would come back to me unless there was some kind of ultimatum."

"She may have suggested it. . ."

"Why?"

"No reason. Just wants you to look under the hood to make sure there are no leaky psychological pipes."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"_A_ fight?"

"Several fights?"

"All couples have fights."

"What kinds of fights do you have?"

House shrugged.

"The usual stuff. I don't help enough around the house. I forget to put down the seat in the john. I don't like her friends enough, that sort of thing."

"Around the house? You're living together?"

"Not technically."

"So you still have your apartment?"

"Yes."

"Your idea or hers?"

House folded his arms.

"We both agreed that it's wise to take things slow," he said.

"Okay," Nolan said, skeptically. "So what was the latest fight about. The one that led to her suggest you restart therapy?"

"I was cutting myself."

Nolan furrowed his brow.

"Cutting yourself?"

"It's what all the teenage girls are doing these days," House said. "I saw it on tumblr."

"You cut yourself to relieve pain? To release endorphins."

"Give that man a medical license. I mean, a real one. Not this whole psychiatrist scam."

"I thought your pain was being managed."

"You don't manage excruciating pain. The pain's always there, doc. Some days are worse than others."

"Why?"

"Because the world is unfair."

"In my experience, your physical pain is directly related to your mental health."

"Have you been talking to Cuddy?"

"Is that what she thinks too?"

House gave a half shrug, but didn't answer.

"What are you upset about?"

House scratched his head.

"It's obvious, isn't it? I'm afraid when things get too good."

"Because happiness doesn't last."

"Bingo."

"Has she given you any reason to think it won't last?"

"No," House said, looking at his hands.

"You sure about that?"

"Everything's great. Stop trying to fish for something that's not there."

"How's the sex?"

"Have you ever heard my theory that all psychiatrists are basically pervs who want to hear about other people's sex lives?"

Nolan gave a slightly conciliatory shrug and said, "So, how is it?"

"Best I've ever had—and it's not even close."

"That's good. But it also can be bad."

"In what twisted world is great sex bad?"

"It can mask a lot of problems in a relationship. Act as an all-purpose salve."

"Again I say, what part of that is bad?"

"If you know that sex is the only thing bonding you, it can make you feel . . . unstable."

"That's ridiculous. We have a lot more than sex between us."

"Good. Like what?"

House thought about that for a second.

"Like …work."

"She's your boss, right?"

"Only at work. We don't get into that role-playing stuff in the bedroom."

"How's that?"

"Fine."

"No issues at all there, everything hunky dory?"

"I didn't say hunky dory. I _wouldn't_ say hunky dory, actually. Who even says that?"

"Any issues?"

"I mean. . .probably what you'd expect."

"Pretend I'm slow. Spell it out for me."

"_Pretend._ Good one."

"Cute House."

House sighed.

"In the past, when I fucked up at work, it stayed at work. Now I bring it home."

"And what happens when you bring it home?"

"Silent treatment. No sex. Sometimes she kicks me out."

"That's not fair."

"Tell her that."

"Does she often withhold sex as a means of punishing you?"

"No. She wants it as bad as I do."

"And the silent treatment?"

"She has her moods. . ."

"Let's talk more about the fight that led you to cut yourself."

"I never said there was a fight."

"No, you said, you had a kind of freeform anxiety over her leaving you. Why?"

House shrugged again.

"House, you don't cut yourself over freeform anxiety. You cut yourself because something very specifically triggered you."

House folded his arms, looking down at his Nikes.

"She doesn't want me to move in."

"So it's not a mutual decision?"

"No. I think we should live together. Everything's going great."

"Do you want to move in because everything's going great or because it'll mean _she_ thinks everything's going great?"

"I don't see the distinction."

"I get the sense that you're very concerned with keeping Dr. Cuddy happy."

"Have you seen Dr. Cuddy? You'd be concerned, too."

"Has she given you any reason to think she's not happy?"

"Well, not wanting me to move in is one clue."

"What does she say about that?"

"That she has a kid. That she has to be cautious."

"That makes sense, right?"

"Right."

"So why did you get so upset?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I said, I don't know," House snapped. "Isn't it your job to explain the deepest inner workings of my brain to me?"

"No, actually it's my job to get you to draw conclusions about your behavior on your own." He looked at the clock on his desk. "Why don't we end the session here and I'll give you some homework?"

"Fine, but you can't charge me overtime for that."

"Figure out why it upsets you so much that Dr. Cuddy doesn't want you to move in."

"I want one thing. She wants another. It's upsetting."

"Cut-yourself upsetting?"

"Apparently."

"Just think about it, House. We'll talk more next week."

####

When House got home, he wanted to be alone to process the session but Cuddy, of course, had a million questions.

"How was it?"

"Okay," he said.

"Just okay?"

"I mean, it was therapy, not a trip to Disney World."

"Are you going to go back?"

"Weren't those your terms?" he said, pointedly.

"There are no terms," she sniffed. "I love you. I just want you to be happy House."

"I have an appointment scheduled for next week," he said, his voice softening.

"Good," she said, smiling at him.

"Good," he said back, putting his arms around her and kissing her on the lips.

When they parted, he said, "All this shrinking of my brain has made me hungry. What's for dinner?"

"Chinese, pizza, Indian, subs—you decide," she said, handing him takeout menus.

He chuckled knowingly and scanned the menus.

#####

Later that week, they had another fight—this time because House forgot to pick up Cuddy's dry cleaning on the way home ("God forbid I ask you for one tiny favor")—and it turned into yet another referendum on House's inadequacies as a partner.

The following Tuesday, he was back in Nolan's office, fiddling with his cane.

"So have you thought about it?" Nolan said.

"I've thought of little else," House said.

"And?"

"I think Cuddy is having second thoughts about being with me," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Because I'm a fucking disaster. Would you date me?"

"Why are you a disaster?"

"I'm a selfish prick."

"Cuddy obviously doesn't think so."

"Oh, but she does. She was literally saying so the other night."

"Then why is she with you?"

"I ask myself that question all the time."

"Does she tell you that she loves you?"

"Yes."

"Does she tell you why?"

"No."

"Why do you think she loves you?"

"I honestly have no clue."

"Does she ever compliment you? Tell you how great you are? How proud she is of you?"

"No," House said. Then he thought about it. "Well, she told me she was proud that I was going back into therapy."

"Not quite what I had in mind."

"And the first day. The day we got together. She told me I was the most incredible man she'd ever known" He swallowed hard. "Since then, she's been less complimentary."

"She's hard on you."

"I guess."

"It almost feels like you're …auditioning for the role of her partner."

House began playing with the fringed edge of a velvet pillow.

"Yeah, sometimes it feels that way."

"Let me ask you something: Did you feel that way when you were with Stacy Warner?"

House gave a slight laugh.

"No."

"It was more of an equal partnership between you two, right. A team?"

"I suppose."

"So why do you put up with this from Dr. Cuddy?"

"Put up with what?"

"Her making you feel so bad about yourself."

"She doesn't make me feel about myself. She makes me want to be a better man."

"Who says you need to be a better man?"

"Everyone who's ever met me."

"Not Stacy Warner. You just said so yourself."

"That was a lifetime ago. Before I changed."

"How have you changed?"

"Older, more bitter, less able to walk without falling over. Or hadn't you noticed?"

"You're not going to like this, House, but I feel like if you stay with Lisa Cuddy you're never going to feel adequate. She's always going to make you feel like you're not good enough for her."

"That's because I'm not."

"Of course you are."

"It's your job to be on my side. That's what I pay you for. I don't think you're seeing things clearly."

"It's _her_ job to be on your side."

"She is!"

"I don't think so, House. I think she makes you feel like shit about yourself. She makes you feel insecure, lesser. She makes you wake up in the middle of the night and cut your arm."

"That's bullshit!" House said, getting agitated. "You know nothing about her!"

"I'm sorry. I'm here to give my therapeutic opinion. And in my opinion, Lisa Cuddy holds you back. You're with her precisely _because_ she won't fully let you in. She confirms your worst feelings about yourself. It is my suggestion, as your doctor, that you end your relationship with her."

House stood up.

"You're a moron! She's the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

"House, I think it would be better if you sat back down."

"And I think it would be better if you fucked off."

"I understand that you're upset."

House gave a somewhat malicious grin.

"You have no idea how upset I am. But here's your first hint: You're fired."

He stormed toward the door.

"House, let's talk about this."

"Talk to yourself."

And he slammed the door loudly behind him.

######

When he got home that night, Cuddy was sitting at the table, doing her bills.

"How did it go?" she asked, looking up.

"Good," he said, not quite making eye contact.

"So you'll be going back next week?"

He attempted a smile.

"Of course," he said.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh God, guys. Sorry. Just have faith I'll make it all better…eventually.- atd**

House's therapy appointment was supposed to be every Tuesday, at 6 o clock.

It was easy enough for him to keep up the lie—he'd make vague statements about breakthroughs, being sure to occasionally complain about how pretentious or wind-baggy Nolan was, just to make it all credible. He also tried to be on his best behavior—putting down the toilet seat, never drinking straight from the milk carton, calling when he was coming home late—so that Cuddy would think he was making progress in his sessions. In the hour he was supposed to in therapy, he usually just rode his bike around town. If it was raining, he went to the library.

This could've gone on indefinitely, if House hadn't accidentally left his phone at work. He was scheduled to meet Cuddy at their favorite little Italian osteria after the appointment, but the restaurant called and needed to switch the reservation from 8 to 7:30. Cuddy called his cell phone and left several messages. When he never called back, she called Nolan's office.

"Hi, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy. My boyfriend Dr. Gregory House is in a session with Dr. Nolan right now," she told his receptionist. "When he gets out, can you tell him the reservation got switched from 8 to 7:30?"

"Dr. House?" the receptionist said, confused.

"Yeah, scruffy guy with a limp?"

"I know who Dr. House is but he's, um, not ….here," the receptionist said, carefully.

"He's not?" Cuddy scratched her brow. "That's weird. Isn't this the time of his usual appointment?"

"Um . . .can you hold please?"

"Sure." Something about the woman's tone of voice made Cuddy nervous.

A few seconds later, there was a man's voice: Deep and resonant: "This is Dr. Nolan," he said.

"Dr. Nolan, it's Lisa Cuddy, House's girlfriend? Is he there with you?"

"No," Nolan said. "He hasn't been to therapy in nearly three months."

Cuddy almost dropped the phone.

"What?" she said.

"Yes, I'm surprised you didn't know. House broke off his therapy after just two sessions."

"But . . . why?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to ask Dr. House," Nolan said. "Sorry I can't be of more help." And he hung up.

######

Of course House was half an hour late to the restaurant. When he got there, Cuddy was already at the table and had almost polished off a bottle of wine on her own.

"Looks like someone got a head start," he joked, sitting down, and pouring himself the remains of the bottle.

"They switched the reservation to 7:30," Cuddy said.

"Oh shit. And I left my phone at the office. Sorry. . .Did you order the usual for me?"

She didn't answer, instead just took another giant swig of her wine.

He looked up at her. "You okay?"

"When I couldn't get in touch with you on your cellphone, I tried Nolan's office," she said, coolly.

House's face turned white.

"Oh," he said.

"Why didn't you tell me you had stopped going to therapy?" she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Because I was afraid of a reaction something like this," he said.

"You lied to me. Again."

"I'm sorry. It was wrong not to tell you. I didn't want to disappoint you."

"Well, I am disappointed House. I'm disappointed that you stopped therapy and I'm even more disappointed that you lied to me."

The waiter came over to the table, saw that things were tense and slowly backed away: "I'll give you a few more minutes," he said, with strained cheer.

"I screwed up," House said.

"But why, House. Why did you stop therapy?"

"It wasn't working," House said.

"And you knew that after two sessions?"

"Nolan and I have an essential difference of opinion. We had reached an impasse. There was no point in continuing. It was a waste of everyone's time."

"Let me guess: Nolan thinks you need help. You disagree."

"It's not quite that simple," House said, looking down.

"Then enlighten me."

"I . . .can't."

"Oh if you give me some bullshit doctor/patient confidentiality story, I swear to God, House. . ."

"It's private. I'd rather not to tell you," he said. "I'm sorry." He went to take her hand, but she yanked it away.

"Tell me what to do," he said. "I can find another doctor. Start therapy with someone new."

"We both know that's not going to work. The fact that you found a doctor you actually respected was nothing short of a miracle. There is no other therapist out there for you."

"I know," House admitted.

"Then stop patronizing me. Stop handling me. Just be honest!"

House closed his eyes.

"But things have been good lately, right?" he said. "I've been trying really hard. And it's working. We haven't been fighting. You've been happy, right?"

"I was. That was _before_ I found out my boyfriend was lying to my face every week," Cuddy said.

"Please forgive me," House said, eyeing her pathetically.

She drew a sharp breath.

"Let's just order," she said wearily, motioning for the waiter.

They had a tense dinner and settled on an awkward truce when they got home.

"I love you," House whispered in her ear in bed that night.

"I know you do," she replied. "I just wish you didn't have to make everything so hard."

#####

Dr. Darryl Nolan pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and was about to open his car door, when he heard a female voice.

"Dr. Nolan?"

He looked up. It was a beautiful woman, a knockout really—her cheeks flushed from the cold—dressed in an expensive herringbone wool coat and glamorous high heels. He knew right away who she was.

"Dr. Cuddy I presume," he said.

"I hope I didn't. . .startle you," she said.

"You did, a little."

"I'm sorry. I know this is terribly unorthodox, but I need to talk to you about House."

"Dr. Cuddy, you know I can't do that."

"Call me Lisa," she said.

"Even if I call you Lisa, I still can't talk about one of my patients," he said.

"But he's not a patient anymore is he? You told me so last night."

"I still can't . . ."

"I just want to know why he stopped doing therapy. Can you at least tell me that?"

Nolan studied her.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No. All he said was you had a difference of opinion."

"Very diplomatic," Nolan said, almost to himself. Then he opened his car door. "I'll tell you what, Dr. Cuddy, I'll talk to you but not here in a parking lot. I have a cancellation tomorrow at 10 am. Come by and we can have this discussion in the appropriate, clinical setting."

"Absolutely," she said quickly. "I'll be there."

######

Cuddy had only been to a therapist once before, when her mother found out about the brief affair she'd had with her father's best friend. That was forced on her, deeply humiliating, and completely unnecessary. (The doctor's conclusion: She was a highly intelligent and impulsive teenage girl who fancied herself way more worldly than she actually was.) For that reason, she'd always had somewhat negative associations with therapy. But she had to push past those. This was for House. Still, something about the look on Nolan's face when he said, "He didn't tell you?" made her nervous. Was _she_ somehow part of the reason House left therapy?

She sat in Nolan's waiting room, staring the bland, generic water colors on the wall, unconsciously jangling her leg. The lighting, the furniture, the art were all designed to soothe—it wasn't working.

Finally, the receptionist said, "He'll see you now."

Nolan greeted her with a handshake and a smile.

She understood, immediately, why House had liked him—well, _did_, at least. He was distinguished. He had gravitas. But he also wasn't intimidating. Even with all his academic bearing—that posture, that voice—there was something accessible about him.

"Thank you for coming in," Nolan said.

"No, thank you for seeing me," she said.

"How are things going with House?" he asked.

"Fine. I mean, I thought they were going fine. And then I found out that he has been lying to me for the past three months."

"That must've been very upsetting for you."

She looked at him, cautiously. "It was," she said.

"It's difficult to be in a relationship with a man like House, I imagine," Nolan said.

Cuddy gave a tiny, self-conscious chuckle.

"Am I being psychoanalyzed here?" she said.

"Sorry," he said, smiling a bit too broadly. "Force of habit."

"Hey, ask me anything you want," Cuddy said. "Hopefully we can both get our answers."

"I assume the living situation with you two is still the same?" Nolan queried. "He's still living with you but maintaining his apartment?"

She looked at him, a little surprised.

"He told you that?"

"Yes."

She folded her hands in her lap.

"Um, yes. That's still our arrangement."

"Why are you afraid to take the plunge?"

"I have a three-year-old daughter."

"I know. Rachel. He speaks very highly of her."

"Yeah, she adores him too."

"So what's the problem?"

"He's a risky proposition."

"How so?"

"Well, you know him. Former addict. . ."

"No such thing as a former addict," Nolan corrected. "He's still an addict."

Cuddy nodded. "Right. Plus, Anti-social, impatient, angry at the world. Not necessarily the best role model for a 3-year-old girl."

"So what are you with him?"

The question took her by surprise.

"For the usual reasons a woman is with a man. Because I love him."

"But not enough to let him permanently move in."

"We're taking it slow."

"You've known him for twenty years. How much more time do you need?"

"I guess I'm …scared," she admitted.

"And he senses that. Senses that you don't trust him. That you're dissatisfied with him."

"I'm not dissatisfied with him!"

"He thinks you are."

"I still don't see why that would compel him to stop doing therapy."

Nolan made direct eye contact with her.

"Because I told him to break up with you."

There was a brief, shocked silence.

"I'm sorry?" Cuddy said, although she had heard him perfectly.

"It was my professional recommendation to House that he break up with you."

"But…why?"

"Because you make him feel badly about himself."

"I . . love him!"

"I believe you do. You also pick at him, constantly. He feels like he's always having to prove himself to you, to pass some sort of impossible test. It's not House's job to convince you that he's a worthy partner to you."

Cuddy looked at the floor, felt her face get hot. Some of what Nolan was saying had the ring of truth.

"You don't know what it's like being with him," she explained, feeling defensive. "He doesn't follow the normal social codes. His brilliance alienates him—always has. Relating to other people is hard for him. It's almost like he has to be taught how to be in a healthy relationship."

"Are you his girlfriend or his therapist?"

Cuddy felt like she'd been slapped.

"I'm his girlfriend," she said.

"Then act like it," Nolan said.

"So I'm supposed to just let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants?"

"No," Nolan said. "If you're not happy with his behavior, you should break up with him."

"But I don't want to break up with him!"

"You tell me that his brilliance alienates him. You tell me that he has to be taught how to be in a healthy relationship. But he told me he was on much steadier ground in his relationship with Stacy Warner. That they felt like equal partners."

Cuddy tensed.

"He talked about Stacy?" she said.

"I asked him about her," Nolan said. "He didn't volunteer the information."

"It's not fair to compare the two relationships," Cuddy said.

"Why not?"

"For one thing, that was before the infarction, before the pills. He's gotten a lot darker, a lot more isolated since then."

"I agree."

"And Stacy didn't have a child."

"I agree with that, too."

"I always have to think of Rachel first."

"Of course you do."

She squinted at him.

"So you think that House is an unsuitable partner for me?"

"I think _you_ think he is," Nolan said.

"You're twisting my words."

"No, I'm not. You're deeply conflicted in your feelings toward him. And he senses that. I think it impedes his progress toward mental health. But, on the other hand, he loves you so much that the mere suggestion of a break up sent him flying out of this office in a rage. So we seem to be at an impasse."

"You think I'm impeding his mental health?" Cuddy said, shakily.

"In a word, yes. He wants to please you so badly, his whole life is dedicated to pleasing you. You make him feel unstable, inadequate. House, despite all his bravado, is deeply insecure. You add to his insecurities."

Cuddy nodded wordlessly. She felt drained, sucker-punched.

"Thanks for taking the time to see me," she said, standing up slowly.

"I can see that I upset you," Nolan said. "I'm sorry."

"No," Cuddy said, in a bit of a daze. "I'm glad I came. I needed to hear this. I had no idea what I was doing to him. I was selfish. I was only thinking about my needs."

"Well, maybe that's the first step toward healing," Nolan said.

She nodded, vaguely, but he could tell that she was lost in thought and hadn't really heard.

#####

That night, she was waiting for House when he got home, sitting at the kitchen table, in the dark.

"This looks depressing," he said, with a chuckle, sitting across from her.

"I think we should stop seeing each other," she blurted out.

His mouth dropped open.

"What?"

"I think we should break up."

"Cuddy, I already apologized about the Nolan thing. What more do you want me to do?"

"It's not about that. Well, not entirely. I just think that it's not fair for me to keep you in limbo like this. You want to move in and I keep stalling."

"I don't mind," he said anxiously. "It's a big decision. Take all the time you need. I'm happy with the way things are. I don't need anything more."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"You deserve a woman who accepts you as you are, who doesn't try to change you."

"Such a creature doesn't exist," he said, trying to make light. He stood up, went to her, put his arms around her neck. "You're the only one who can put up with me."

She wriggled away. "I'm serious."

"Cuddy, you're not making any sense."

"Stacy Warner split from Mark," Cuddy said, seemingly out-of-the-blue. "Did you know that?"

House stared at her.

"What? What the fuck does she have to do with any of this?"

"It's true," Cuddy said. "She's living in Hoboken. An hour away. You should contact her."

In truth, Cuddy had found out about Stacy's divorce several weeks ago. She'd been trying to find the right time to tell House, but could never quite bring herself to do it. ("Hey honey, good news! The former love of your life is back on the market!") Now, however, seemed like an excellent time.

"Why the fuck would I want to contact Stacy?" House said. "She has nothing to do with us."

"I'm saying that you should be with a woman who accepts you, as you are."

He slumped into another chair, as though he suddenly couldn't sustain his own weight.

"You accept me. No one knows me like you do—and you still accept me," he said.

"Not enough," she said.

"Cuddy, I'm sorry. I screwed up. I promised I wouldn't lie to you and I did. It was a horrible mistake. Let me fix it. Whatever I did wrong, let me fix it. Just tell me. Please don't do this."

"It's too late, House," she said, not able to look him in the eye. "It's already done."

_To be continued…  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_Splat!_

The tomato landed, with a thud, in front of Cuddy's feet. It exploded instantly—a Jackson Pollack of juice and seeds and tomato flesh spraying all around her. Some landed on her shoes. A bit of the juice managed to get on her skirt.

She looked up at the balcony to see the offending hurler, as if there was any doubt.

House was up there with a small boy, a cancer patient with a portable IV drip.

"And that, Timmy, is how gravity works," he said loudly.

"What are you, five?" she snapped, dabbing her skirt with a tissue.

"Timmy here is seven, aren't you Timmy?" House said, putting his arm around the boy. "And as you well know, I'm 51—not five. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you would've been arrested months ago. _If you know what I mean_." He winked broadly.

"Take Timmy back to his room, House—_now_," Cuddy said, glaring. "He's not supposed to be wandering the halls."

"And that Timmy, is an example of an angry _bit_—" he stopped himself. "Well, you'll find out soon enough. . . Uh, if you make it, that is."

And he led Timmy back to the cancer ward.

It had been three weeks since their breakup, and House had become nearly impossible to deal with. At first, he was desperate, pathetic—banging on her door at all hours of the night—usually drunk, once literally in tears. When that didn't work, he switched to angry outbursts, which eventually transitioned to his current state of disruptive mayhem. It was exhausting, relentless, and at times hurtful, "Did you have those ugly bags under your eyes when we dating?" he would say. Or "You should hear what the other doctors have to say about you in the staff lounge. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn't." But she had to ride it out. The key was to avoid him as much as possible.

Still, it wasn't easy, especially because, through his grief, he had buried himself completely in his work (idleness being his worst enemy) and was making more astonishingly brilliant diagnoses than ever. One day, about a week after the tomato incident, he diagnosed a case of Chagas Disease so quickly and ingeniously, she was compelled to stop by his office and congratulate him.

He was sitting behind his desk, studying a scan, his glasses perched on his nose.

"Great work today," she said to him. "I mean, with the Chagas case."

He glanced up—and she could already tell by the mask of anger on his face that this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"Oh goody! So I get to keep my job for another day? Lucky for me, you're not as fickle at work as you are in your private life."

"You know I'm proud of your work," she said.

"Good. Because your approval means everything to me," he said. Then he screwed up his face. "Wait, did I say everything? I meant absolutely nothing. But thanks for stopping by!"

She pursed her lips. Her mouth felt dry.

"Okay, I get it. Okay," she said, starting to leave.

He closed his eyes.

"Wait," he said softly.

She stopped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She nodded.

"I know, House."

He looked at her.

"How are you?" he said quietly.

"Been better," she admitted. "You?"

"Miserable," he said.

His eyes were wide and searching ("_You think I can fix myself?_")—and she forced herself to look away.

"We'll both get through this," she said, trying to keep her voice impersonal. And before he could respond, she left.

####

A few nights later, there was a loud and riotous thunderstorm that woke both her and Rachel up.

"Mama, I'm scared," Rachel said, crawling into bed with her.

Cuddy smoothed her little girl's hair. She wasn't the biggest fan of thunder herself—House used to give her grief about it—but she had to be strong.

"Remember what House said about thunder?" she said.

"Some big words," Rachel said.

"Thermal expansion of plasma in the lightning channel," Cuddy said. "But what else did he say?"

"That it was the world's best drum skit," Rachel said.

"Drum _kit_," Cuddy corrected. "And yeah."

There was a loud crack.

"That was the snare drum," Cuddy said.

Then, a low rumble.

"And that was the bass drum," Cuddy said.

Finally, the kind of thunder that was so loud, you felt it rattle inside your bones.

"Mama!" Rachel said, diving into Cuddy's arms.

"And that was the cymbal," Cuddy said shakily, hugging her tightly.

"I wish House was here," Rachel moaned.

Cuddy sighed.

_Yeah_, she thought. _Me too_.

#####

In her mind, there were two Cuddys.

There was rational Cuddy: The one who had made the decision to break up with House because she realized that her own ambivalence toward the relationship was actually hurting him.

And there was irrational Cuddy: She was the one who loved him, wished she didn't, couldn't help herself. She was also the one who craved him now, missed every part of him.

And lately, irrational Cuddy had taken the lead.

So she began doing things she wasn't entirely proud of. Or, to put it another way, she began acting like House. She would drive past his apartment. Check to see if the light was on, if his bike was parked at the curb. She would crane her neck, peer through the window, try to assess if he was home, if he was alone. (She never saw anything beyond inconclusive flickers and shadows). She would grill Wilson for insight into House's emotional state. ("I'm done playing go-between," Wilson finally said.) She would go to Sullivan's, House's favorite bar, after work, nurse a martini for an hour, in the hopes that he might show up. But he never did.

That is, until one night, when she arrived, he was already sitting at the bar. He was slumped over a bit, wearing a white tee-shirt that was too short and tight, as though it had shrunk in the wash. ("You're a genius," Cuddy would tease him. "You can't figure out not to wash cotton in scalding hot water?"). And he wasn't alone. A slender, elegant looking woman sat beside him. They seemed to be deep in conversation. The woman was rubbing his shoulder.

Cuddy's put her hand over her mouth.

The woman at the bar, of course, was Stacy Warner.

######

"I'm so glad we finally did this," Stacy said breezily, taking off her coat, sitting down across from Cuddy.

They were at a small café in New Brunswick, about 20 minutes from the hospital.

"Me too," Cuddy said, smiling at her.

Stacy looked good—as beautiful and elegant as ever.

They exchanged pleasantries for a bit—talked about Stacy's new law firm, where she had just made partner, about developments at the hospital, including a prestigious grant that had just come through. And then, Stacy finally said: "I was very sorry to hear about you and House."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, sipping her iced tea. "Actually, I'm glad you brought that up because I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us."

"Why would there be awkwardness?" Stacy said, chuckling.

"Well, I know you've been seeing him," Cuddy said, cautiously.

"_Seeing_ him? As in _dating_ seeing him?"

"It's okay," Cuddy said. "I don't mind. I actually…encouraged it."

"Why on earth would you think House and I are back together?" Stacy said.

Cuddy looked at her.

"I saw you two together. At Sullivan's."

"It's true. House and I met for a drink. He was very depressed. He told me that you had broken up with him and he was feeling somewhat lost. I was consoling him."

"Consoling him?" she said, remembering Stacy's hand on House's shoulder.

"Well, tried to at least. He was inconsolable."

Cuddy felt her face turn red.

"I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions," she said. "I'm embarrassed."

"House is still very much in love with you, Lisa. You know that, right? He's very hurt and confused by the breakup. He said it came out the blue."

"I…had my reasons," Cuddy said.

"Well, he's a mess. I'm actually worried that he'll do something rash."

"Like what?" Cuddy said anxiously.

"Who knows? But is there anyone better at self destruction than Gregory House?"

#####

The phone on Nolan's nightstand rang at 1 am. This wasn't that unusual. Nolan gave his home phone number to his patients for emergencies. And emergencies rarely happened during regular business hours.

He picked up.

"Hello?"

"Do you know how easy it is to buy heroin in Princeton?" the man said, shakily.

Nolan sat up in bed.

"House?" he said, shocked. "You took heroin?"

This would be a setback of unprecedented proportions.

"Made some initial inquiries," House said. His voice was dripping with self-loathing. "It's actually much easier to acquire than Vicodin. Which is a job for Nancy Reagan, or whoever the hell wants us all to say no to drugs."

"Why do you want to take heroin, House?"

"Because my life is going so well, obviously!"

"But why heroin, House?"

A pause.

"Because everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts."

Nolan turned on the lamp on the nightstand.

"I'm glad you called me instead of taking the drugs," he said.

"Seemed like the smarter move…"

"Where are you now?"

"I'm home. I put my dealer on hold. He's probably hung up by now."

Nolan smiled, despite himself. House was his only patient who could joke his way through a mental health crisis.

"I'm getting dressed," Nolan said. "Can you meet me in my office in half an hour?"

"Can you bring Vicodin?"

"You're going to be okay, House. Half an hour."

A pause. Then a somewhat chastened, "Okay. Thanks."

#####

Whatever crisis had led House to consider taking heroin and to call Nolan in the middle of the night, seemed to have subsided a bit. He looked edgy, a bit gaunt in his oversized overcoat, but not on the verge of a breakdown.

"Nice sweatpants," he said to Nolan when he saw him.

"I was sleeping, so…this is the best you're going to get," Nolan said.

"Sleep," House mused. "I remember that."

"Tell me what's going on," Nolan said.

"Surprise, surprise, Cuddy dumped me," House said.

"When?"

"One month, five days, and eight hours ago. But who's counting?"

Nolan did a quick calculation: The same day Cuddy had come to see him. He had sensed a look of resolve on her face, like she'd already made up her mind. He scratched his head. So much for _do no harm_.

"Why?"

"That's the thing. I have no damn clue. She was blathering on about keeping me in limbo and me needing a woman who accepted me for who I am."

"Well, don't you?"

"Cuddy accepts me for who I am. Or . . . I thought she did."

"You told me she was constantly nagging you."

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"Yeah, she had some issues with me. Who wouldn't? I'm a lot to deal with."

"That's true."

"The thing is, she took a leap of faith with me, you know? She risked everything for me—personally and professionally. Maybe it was all just too much."

"Maybe she realized she was hurting you by not fully committing to the relationship."

"She gave me everything!"

"You were cutting yourself on the couch!"

House looked at his hands.

"I'm not used to admitting that I want things, let alone need them," he explained. "So yeah, I was afraid of losing what I had. Afraid of the rug being pulled out from under me. Turns out, my paranoia was justified."

"Maybe you can find another woman who doesn't make you feel quite so paranoid."

House gave him a somewhat dirty look.

"I don't want any other woman."

"You're hurt. Still heartbroken. It's a cliché, but true: There are other fish in the sea."

House let out a derisive chuckle.

"After all our time together, Nolan, you have failed to recognize one essential truth: I don't like most people. I can barely stand you, to be honest. As for falling in love? Forget it. There's one woman for me. One."

"So Cuddy or death?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking of taking heroin. That's close enough, in my book."

House eyed him.

"But I didn't, did I? I called you first."

Nolan softened his stance.

"And I'm very glad you did. . . How's the leg?"

"Hurts like a mother," House said.

"I'm going to write you a prescription for tramadol," Nolan said, taking his prescription pad out the desk. "Just to get you through this period."

House leaned back on the couch. Tramadol was the strongest non-narcotic pain reliever there was. It would have to do.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Can we resume therapy every week? I don't want any more 2 am phone calls."

"That's probably a good idea," House said.

"House, it takes courage to ask for help. I'm proud of you."

"Oh yeah. I'm a pillar of strength," House said, snatching the prescription out of Nolan's hands.

######

The next night, Nolan was working late when the phone rang. He waited for his receptionist to pick up, but it just kept ringing and ringing—she had obviously left for the day. He rolled his eyes a bit, answered it.

"Darryl Nolan," he said.

"Dr. Nolan, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I'm not sure if you remember me."

Nolan had to chuckle: Two days in a row.

"Of course I remember you. What can I do for you, Dr. Cuddy?"

"I'm having a bit of a . . . crisis of conscience," Cuddy said.

"A crisis of conscience? You're going to have to explain."

"Last time I saw you, you convinced me that splitting up with House was the right thing to do. When I left your office, I felt very certain of what I had to do. But lately, my resolve has weakened. . . I miss him." She chuckled dryly. "And I can tell how much he misses me, because he's being a complete asshole at work."

Nolan laughed with her.

"You know him well," he said.

She sighed. "The thing is, I was so certain I was making the right decision last time I saw you. So I thought maybe if you could remind me again why I'm bad for him, it might help strengthen my resolve?"

Nolan tapped a pencil against the leather bound calendar that covered his desk.

"I never specifically suggested you break up with him," he said.

"No, but I got the message, loud and clear."

"I think I …underestimated the connection you two have. It was a mistake."

There was a pause.

"That's quite a mistake," Cuddy said.

"Then let me help fix it," Nolan said. "House has started therapy again. Well, he came to me in a bit of a state last night. We're resuming our normal sessions next Tuesday. Why don't you join us. Say, 6:15?"

"If you think it will help."

"I do."

"Okay, I'll be there."

"One more thing, Dr. Cuddy. Don't tell House you'll be joining us. I think it's best if I'm the one who tells him."

#####

"I have a surprise for you," Nolan said. "I hope it's going to be a pleasant one."

"You got me a pony?"

"We're going to have a special guest at today's session."

House's eyes narrowed.

"If you flew in my mother from Virginia, you're a dead man."

"It's not your mother. It's …Dr. Cuddy."

House stared at Nolan, in some disbelief.

"How did you manage to. . .?"

"She called me. Look, all will be explained when Dr. Cuddy arrives. I think this is something the three of us need to discuss together."

House leaned back on the couch, processing the news.

"You okay?" Nolan said.

"Yeah, I. . .she called you? How did she even get your number?"

Nolan hesitated.

"Dr. Cuddy actually came to see me once."

House's head was spinning.

"When?"

"A little over a month ago."

The night Cuddy had broken up with him, House had been too devastated to make the connection between Cuddy's words and Nolan's. To understand that she was practically echoing the same reasons Nolan had given when he suggested House leave her. Now he understood.

"That was you?" he hissed.

Nolan sighed.

"I may have inadvertently set off a chain of events that were unintended."

"You bastard." House clenched his fists, lurched forward.

"What are you going to? Take a swing at me?" Nolan said.

"I should!" House said. His body was still coiled, but he had unclenched his fists. He tried to calm down, regulate his breathing.

"Let's see if we can all the clear the air together," Nolan said.

His phone buzzed on his desk. He picked it up.

"Okay," he said.

Then he smiled at House, encouragingly.

"She's here."  
#####

Cuddy came in, and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Should she sit next to House on the couch? Or in the somewhat serious looking antique velvet chair in the corner?

"Have a seat next to House on the couch," Nolan instructed, as if he could read her mind.

She sat next to him, but not too close.

"Hi," House said, shyly.

"Hi," she said back, blinking at him.

"Are you two familiar with The Gift of the Magi?" Nolan said, referencing the famed O Henry story where the husband sells his watch to buy his wife expensive combs for her long hair, which she has shorn and sold to buy him a chain for his watch.

Both House and Cuddy nodded. "Of course," Cuddy said.

"I feel that I have inadvertently created the therapeutic version of The Gift of the Magi," Nolan said.

They both gave him a curious look.

Nolan turned to Cuddy. "I suggested that House break up with you and he fired me," he said.

Then he turned back to House: "Then I relayed my concerns to Dr. Cuddy and she broke up with you in an act of some self-sacrifice. Now you're both miserable. And I'm afraid it's all my fault."

"You really suck at your job," House said.

"I admit, it wasn't my proudest moment."

House then turned to Cuddy, hopefully: "So is it true? Do you really still love me?" he asked.

"Of course I do, House."

"And you broke up with me because this bozo told you to?"

"He didn't tell me to. He made some irrefutable points. I was holding you at arm's length. I was never fully committed to the relationship."

"Of course you were," House said. "We'd been together for five months, not five years. I have no patience. That's one of my problems. You're a mom. You can't just jump into things because they feel good."

"But. . .a small part of me—"

"There is no small part of you," House interjected—and they gave each other wistful, knowing smiles.

"Inside joke," they explained in unison.

"—a small part of me was holding back," Cuddy continued. "Breaking up with Lucas, diving into my relationship with you, that was the craziest thing I've ever done. I've never trusted my feelings for you. They're too . . . unwieldy."

"Control is important to you, isn't it, Dr. Cuddy?" Nolan said.

"I guess so."

"Why? What's so terrible about losing control?"

Now both Nolan and House were looking at her.

"I. . .don't know," she admitted.

"You should ask yourself that."

"She's the youngest female dean of medicine in the country," House said, proudly. "You think she achieved that by behaving recklessly?"

Cuddy gave a tiny smile.

"Were either of your parents alcoholics?" Nolan asked Cuddy.

Cuddy recoiled a bit.

"What? No! I mean, I guess my mom likes the occasional nip. But I wouldn't characterize her as an alcoholic."

"I would," House said. And Cuddy shot him a look.

"Children of alcoholics often feel a need to control their environments. Because their childhoods were chaotic."

"That's not me. I mean, my childhood wasn't chaotic. My father was a rock, he grounded us."

"And your mother?"

"She was hard on me," Cuddy admitted. "Nothing I ever did was good enough."

"What does she think about House?"

"She thinks he's an asshole and a narcissist," Cuddy chuckled. "But I think she was also just glad I had a boyfriend."

"You haven't had many boyfriends, have you?"

"No," Cuddy said, looking at the floor.

"Why not?"

"She was too busy becoming the _youngest female dean in the country_," House repeated. "Or haven't you been paying attention?"

"House, let her answer."

"I don't know. I guess I . . .scare some men away."

"Why?"

"Probably because she's neither extremely beautiful nor extremely accomplished. Oh wait . . ." House said.

"House…" Nolan warned.

Cuddy blushed.

"I guess I do tend to intimidate some men."

"But not House."

She gave House a flirty look.

"Nothing intimidates House."

Nolan nodded.

"I don't doubt that men are intimidated by you. You're everything House says and more. But I'd like to propose an alternate theory. I think you close yourself off from love, much the same way House does—albeit for different reasons. He doesn't want to get hurt. You don't want to lose control."

House and Cuddy both folded their arms defensively—they had a habit of subconsciously mirroring each other that Nolan found amusing.

"Is it possible Dr. Cuddy, that you fear real love and intimacy because those things almost always involve losing control?"

"I … never thought of it like that."

"Well, it's something to think about," Nolan said. He pulled out a notepad, scribbled down a name. "This is the name of a very fine couple's therapist in Princeton. I think you'll find that she is accomplished, insightful, and will give you excellent tools to rebuild your relationship."

Cuddy looked at him, confused. "Wait. You're not going to treat us?"

"Well, I'm not a technically a couple's therapist. Besides, I feel like I've already done enough damage here."

"Exactly," House said. "You broke us. You should fix us."

Nolan turned to Cuddy. "Is that what you want, too?"

"Of course," she said.

Nolan smiled, unable to mask his pleasure.

"I'd be honored," he said. "I'd like to continue treating House, on Tuesdays. So maybe we could have our sessions on Mondays? 6 pm?"

"That works," House and Cuddy said, in unison.

"Great. Until we really get going on the therapy, my recommendation would be that you limit your interactions, when possible, to this clinical setting."

House and Cuddy shrugged.

"Okay," they said reluctantly.

"So I'll see you both next week."

They got up, exited the office, rode down the elevator together.

When they stepped onto the street, Cuddy said: "I'm feeling pretty optimistic. You?"

"Very," he said.

She took his hand.

"I've missed you," she said.

"I've missed you, too," he said. "So fucking much."

"Come here," she said, holding out her arms. He went to her, gratefully, and they hugged. When they parted, they couldn't quite let go of each other, but instead gazed into each other's eyes.

He gently kissed her on the mouth, because he couldn't help himself.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"So are you," she whispered back.

And then they were kissing for real, right there in the street, oblivious to the gawking passersby (or to Nolan, who was watching from the window, shaking his head).

"The Princeton Hilton is five minutes from here," House said, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.

"Nolan says we're supposed to limit our interactions," Cuddy said, kissing him back, running her hands through his hair, down his back.

"What the fuck does he know? He almost destroyed us."

"Good point," Cuddy giggled.

"So the Hilton?"

"Lead the way."

EPILOGUE

The floor was littered with boxes and bags and they were making three distinct piles: Bring, throw away, or give to charity.

House took a very old and tattered concert tee, put it in one of the "bring" piles.

Cuddy immediately removed it, tossed on the "throw away" pile.

"Hey, that's a classic!" House said, retrieving it. "Def Leppard at Wolf Trap,1981. Amanda Knoblach gave me a blow—" he glanced over at Rachel, who was looking through some of the boxes. "—pop in the back seat of her Chevy."

"That was nice of her," Rachel said.

House grinned.

"Yeah, it most certainly was."

Then, noticing the look on Cuddy's face, he meekly dropped the tee back in the throw away pile.

"Who's this?" Rachel said, holding up a photo of a lanky young man, hair sticking up in a variety of uncooperative directions, playing the guitar under the tree.

"Never mind," House said, snatching it from her.

"Oh my God, let me see that," Cuddy said. "Look at you. You were so cute. What happened? That was right around when we first met, huh?"

"A few years before that," House said.

"That's House?" Rachel said, with disbelief.

She inspected the photo again. "Your cheeks are rosy."

"That's not rosy. It's a very manly shade of. . . pink," House said.

Then Rachel reached into a box that was filled was records.

"Is this a placemat?" she asked, holding up Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run."

"Oh my God, I weep for the future of our nation," House said.

"It's a record," Cuddy explained. "It plays music. It's like an iPod for really old people."

"Where's your piano?" Rachel said, standing in the exact spot where the piano had been. (The wood flooring underneath the piano was a darker shade, unbleached by the sun.)

"It's already at Mommy's," House said. "The movers took it."

"We have a piano now?" Rachel said, excited.

"Yup!"

"Can I play it?"

"Um, only if you wash your hands first."

"Will you teach me to play?"

House glanced at Cuddy, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, "It's your call."

"Sure. I don't see why not."

"Yay!" Rachel said, diving for his bad leg.

"Rachel, be careful! You know what I've told you about House's leg," Cuddy said.

House grinned, mussed Rachel's hair.

"It doesn't hurt one bit," he said.

THE END


End file.
